


Until The Day May Come

by ThNinjassistant



Category: King of Fighters, Ryuuko no Ken | Art of Fighting (Video Games)
Genre: I get sappy too okay, I thing I wrote late at night and then wrote an accompaniment for, M/M, POV First Person, Pining, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:23:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26999626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThNinjassistant/pseuds/ThNinjassistant
Summary: A sappy two bit piece made based on an idea I had late at night.
Relationships: Sakazaki Ryou/Robert Garcia
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

In dreams, we’re together.

Not like we are normally, no. We’re the closest of friends normally, it’s something I can never be grateful enough for.

But in dreams, we do things together. Things that… close friends don’t do together.

We kiss sometimes, most of the time really. It’s nice… Feeling him kissing me, through inexperience and hesitance.

Sometimes we hold hands sitting side by side. Sometimes we kiss then, sometimes we talk, other times we just enjoy each other being there. I never let go, and I never want to. So he doesn’t either.

Sometimes we’re dancing. He’s nervous trying to mimic my moves. I don’t have the heart to admit I’m nervous too.

Sometimes the dreams aren’t so positive. Sometimes we lose, sometimes we’re hurt, sometimes it’s… worse. But we’re always together. We’re never apart in them.

The worst part is waking up. It hurts when it’s a sad dream.

It hurts more when it’s a happy one.

Waking up is a task in remembering the role I have. I’m a friend. A close friend… Nothing more.

It hurts knowing that. It hurts knowing the dreams aren’t real, yet I’m always pulled away from them back into the waking world.

It hurts having to bite back everything. Having to bite down until my tongue is bleeding to stop myself from saying those three words that would ruin everything.

Sometimes… We’re alone together. Not in dreams, we’re together like we are normally.

Just spending time as friends, enjoying each other being there as a friend.

Sometimes I lose myself in the silence. It makes everything inside so much louder.

How selfish I am. How I want more from what I’m lucky to have. How I don’t want to let go of anything yet want more.

I let my hand fall to the grass on the hill overlooking the sunset in the park and close my eyes.

I feel a warm, gentle hand interlock its fingers with mine.

I open my eyes and see him smile at me before he looks away. It might be the light, but his face looks different.

I feel my face get warm and look down again.

We don’t say anything. We probably won’t for sometime. We can just sit here in each other’s company.

Maybe I’ll never say the things I keep inside. Maybe I will. It might ruin everything, or make it better. It’s terrifying to think about.

But he hasn’t let go.

So I won’t either.


	2. Chapter 2

I’m not too good at knowing things.

I’m not very smart, and I didn’t have much of a chance to learn growing up.

I sometimes wonder and question things, but I never end up bothering to try to answer them.

Like now. The questions are building up inside and yet I can’t ask them or figure them out.

It makes me wonder if he ever feels the same, or if it’s just that I’m stupid.

But it still eats at me. Things that tug at my mind begging for my attention.

What I can do to see him smile so brightly, whether or not I’m too overprotective or pushy with him. Why my heart beats so much faster when the light catches his face a certain way, or why it’s hard to be close without my face getting hot and my stomach feeling weird.

I wonder if he feels that way. The same way. But I don’t wonder it often. There’s no point to.

I already know the answer.

Another question came to mind recently, with another visit.

A question from a day devoted to training and sparring, one on the status of his hands.

My hands are pretty tough. I don’t like using gloves often, it restricts power. But my hands are rough and firm from training and fighting for years.

They’re rather like me, in a way. Fighting and training leaving behind the softness of youth.

On the other hand, he always wears those. They’re never off his hands.

How soft would they be to touch, without the fabric in front of them? How warm would they be?

Another question I don’t understand the point of asking.

We decided to cool down by taking a walk a few days later. There’s the one hill that always looks great for sunsets. He sat down seeming tired, and I sat with him. I don’t want to leave his side, despite the questions my mind was begging me to ask.

His hand is shaking. His eyes are closed, he might not realize that it is. His face doesn’t look the same under the light. He looks pained, or afraid. He looks sad above all.

I don’t know what compelled me to, but before I knew it my fingers were intertwined with his, ceasing the shaking and dragging him out of whatever was stirring inside. There’s still the light that makes him so captivating.

I realize what everything looks like and look away as my heart speeds up again. I expect him to let go at any moment.

I was taken aback by a soft squeeze to my hand from his and looked back to see him looking at the grass with a bright face. The sunset makes it even more breathtaking.

His hand is soft… and warm… 

I close my eyes and smile, despite the feeling in my chest and stomach, and how sweaty my hands must be.

Maybe some questions should be answered. 

With him by my side, I think I could manage to learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank you for making it through this you know


End file.
